


Confessions are made in the name of myself

by Comedia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, CHEESY BULLSHIT, Fluff, Goddammit, I guess???, I wanted to write an ode to chesthair, Love Confessions, M/M, Puppy Love, this entire fic is a bit of a tease, this happened, where do I even start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comedia/pseuds/Comedia
Summary: Hanzo and McCree drunkenly end up in the same bed. It's cute and fluffy and Hanzo has a thing for chest hair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Named after [this ridiculous song](https://youtu.be/XK3Qnpw13c4) because for some bloody reason I decided it was a perfect for McCree. Don't @ me, I have a crush and I can't think straight.

_“Yes, I’m drunk. And you’re beautiful. And tomorrow morning, I’ll be sober, and you’ll still be beautiful.”_ – The Dreamers, (2003)

 

* * *

 

“’s alright, I’ve got yah, Legolas.”

Hanzo snorts at the comment. Normally he wouldn’t dignify the cowboy’s attempt at humor with a reply, but he’s past the point of caring. It is late. They are – most likely, but you never really know with these Overwatch people – alone in an endless sprawling corridor. He’s had a bit too much to drink, and he’s leaning on McCree a bit more than necessary. All of this is fine. It is, in fact, a welcome change of pace.

“Thought a badass like you would handle yer drink better.” There’s a levity to McCree’s drawl, but his metal fingers trail thoughtful patterns across Hanzo’s bare shoulder, and his gaze is locked somewhere far in the distance. It’s clear that Hanzo is not the only one aware of the tension between them.

“Hnnn.” Hanzo bites his bottom lip, worries it between his teeth. Keeps doing it until he’s sure it has captured McCree’s attention.  A quick flick of his tongue across the bitten lip to soothe the pain a bit. Then he glances to the side, seeks the cowboy’s gaze. “I usually partake in drinking during different circumstances. Your “tequila race” was quite out of the ordinary.”

“Heh, knew that’d tickle yer competitive streak.” McCree’s brown eyes do not twinkle as much as they glow, and his lips curve around his cigar in a mischievous grin.

 “So you were trying to get me drunk?” He asks the question with an air of levity, but part of him is curious. They’ve been dancing around this, whatever it is, for months. It wouldn’t be surprising if the cowboy decided that alcohol would help them breach the subject.

“Now hold your horses.” McCree actually stops and turns to him completely. Hand still at the small of Hanzo’s back, close enough for his breath to ghost across the archer’s neck, his cheek. “I’ll have you know I’m an old fashioned gentleman. Not the kind of person to get a pretty thing drunk and…”

Hanzo raises his hand and puts a single finger to McCree’s lips. Let’s it linger enough to feel his hot breath, his slightly parted lips. “No need to be serious. I am not.”

The cowboy stares, eyes wide, smoke twirling around him. “Just sayin’. Don’t want yah thinkin’ I’d do… that.”

“All I’m thinking about right now, Jesse, is the part where you called me a, what was it? ‘Pretty thing’?” Hanzo allows himself a small smile as he speaks, his heart fluttering with each word. It’s been years since he had anything like this. Decades since he came even close to… flirting.

 McCree actually blushes at his remark, but hides it surprisingly well by huffing out a big cloud of smoke. Seconds later he’s moving again, pulling Hanzo along with him, but he’s not headed down the corridor anymore. Instead he walks up to a room nearby.

“Yer not in any shape to make it back to your sleeping quarters.” He doesn’t turn on the lights as they enter. It’s a plain room. Standard for housing agents. Must have been empty for months. Before he knows it Hanzo is sat on the bed, looking up at his friend. “And don’t give me no attitude about it. This is for yer own good.”

Hanzo snorts at that, letting his gaze trail McCree’s form. Stern expression bordering on laughter, disheveled clothes, spurs on his shoes as always. “I’m quite sure those garish _things_ on your shoes are the only thing keeping you upright.”

McCree stares at him for a beat before he huffs out a laugh. “… you’ve got metal legs, pal. What’s yer excuse for wobbling all over the place?”

“I would assume it has something to do with the beauty in front of me.” It is all in the delivery, and Hanzo musters up whatever focus and determination he has left to completely deadpan it.

He watches the blush creep up on McCree’s cheeks again. It seems the cowboy is trying to laugh, but he barely manages more than a content sigh. A heartbeat, two, and then he sits down next to Hanzo, the bed creaking at the added weight.

“What’re we doin’ here?” His voice is gravel, his expression tired. A smile plays on his lips, but it’s faint, hesitant. Hanzo knows the feeling well. “I mean, really. It feels like we’ve got somethin’… somethin’ nice goin’ here. At least I think so. And hell, this is the wrong time and place, but, I need to know, y’know?”

It’s been vague, they’ve been dancing for so long, that once it’s laid out so clearly in front of him Hanzo loses his words. He swallows thickly and makes sure to keep McCree’s gaze, hoping his sincerity shows in his eyes while he fumbles for words, any words, to say.

“I also think this is… nice.” It’s awkward, it’s unbecoming of someone his age and his experience, but somehow he ended up here. All it took was a cocksure cowboy with a dreadfully endearing drawl and a shirt that’s always undone a button too much. “In fact, it’s very nice. And I think… it has the potential of being even nicer.”

McCree has fully turned to face him, and the grin on his face is brighter than the sun. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear that, darlin’.”

A moment of silence, and then Hanzo starts taking off his kyudo-gi. He can hear McCree swallow audibly at the sight – something he takes quite a bit of pleasure in. Turning to the cowboy he quirks an eyebrow. “You told me I should sleep in this place. I am getting ready for bed.”

Dark eyes trail his bare chest. McCree shifts a bit where he’s sitting, but makes no effort to actually get up and leave. “Sounds like a plan, partner.”

Hanzo gets started taking off his hakama, and only stops when he’s halfway done. Turning to face the cowboy, he nods to the bed. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want. It would be… nice.”

At this point it’s not even awkward conversation as much as it is an inside joke. At least that’s what Hanzo tells himself as he folds the hakama neatly on the floor before sprawling out on the bed. He’s very aware of McCree’s eyes on him, and while he welcomes the exploration he can’t help but feel frustrated about the distance between them.

“Well, how could I say no to that?”

It is McCree’s turn to undress, and he does it slowly, with calculated movements. Everything from bending over gracefully to take off his shoes, to how he doesn’t unbutton his shirt but instead pulls it over his head. Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat as the brown fabric unveils a sculpted chest covered by dark hairs. He’s seen glimpses before, thought about what the cowboy would look like laid bare, and still reality outdoes fantasy.

“Scoot over, then.” McCree is standing by the bed, boxers low on his hips, crooked grin on his lips.

Hanzo does as he’s told, his gaze never really leaving the cowboy. The flex of his thighs as he makes his way into the bed, curling up close. The flutter of his lashes as he yawns. Hanzo is tired and his world is spinning, but his body is warm and the dragons are stirring. It’s a hunger he’s used to, but yet again, it’s rarely like this. As he lies, body flush against McCree, it’s somewhat of a first.

There’s a soft touch on metal tracing his palm. Entwining their fingers. And while there’s excitement in not looking, he eventually lies on his side, his gaze immediately caught by those bewitching browns.

“Howdy.”

It’s ridiculous, like everything between them has been up until this point. It’s enough to have him laughing – because even like this Hanzo has some dignity, and he will not call the sound that erupts from him “giggles”.

“I greet you.” His reply is enough to have McCree – no, Jesse – in a giggle-fit of his own, and Hanzo can’t help but smile at the sound. As they slowly get comfortable, the sheets warming to their body heat, he lets his gaze wander. From those unruly curls and broad shoulders, to his tan skin and the dark wiry hair of his chest.

Hanzo moves slowly, deliberately. Fingers trailing Jesse’s metal arm, his bicep, before finding its way to his chest. With a feather-light touch he spreads his fingers over Jesse’s chest, feeling the pounding heartbeat against his palm, and the dark hairs tickling his fingertips.

The bed is warm, and Jesse’s touch is warmer. Hanzo’s falling fast asleep next to this man who calls him “partner”, and he’s never felt safer. When he wakes in the morning, it will not only be to a new sunrise, but to something intriguing. Something he’s been pondering for months. Something he can still feel against his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write short things on [tumblr](http://comediakaidanovsky.tumblr.com/) as well (but mostly I just cry about fictional characters).


End file.
